====November 21, 2013
====Teyaschianniarina, I'yn
====Teya has some NEWS for her brother. And other than that piece, this is what every day is like.

Who Teyaschianniarina, I'yn
What Teya has some NEWS for her brother. And other than that piece, this is what every day is like.
When There are 0 turns, 8 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Dragonhealer Yard, Igen Weyr

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Dragonhealer Yard
Painfully elegant, a stubborn brand of cleanliness is retained in the gentle colors of faded murals and various curtains hung from the rusted metal poles meant to shelter injured dragons on spacious couches lining the permanently soot-stained limestone walls. Of a dusty no-color somewhere between brown and gold, the floor extends onward, fading beneath ragged cabinets built to withstand anything from lashing draconic tails to various medicinal spills.


A little while ago, there was probably a supervisory dragonhealer present, and so I’yn was actually working on the blue from Oasis who is taking up space looking relatively petulant with a bandaged foreleg. It’s a very neat and precise bandaging, one that clearly has the healer-cum-dragonhealer’s handiwork to it for anyone who might recognize his work. But now there is no sign of Trek, G’ad or anyone else who might’ve been watching over the trainee; just the blue and Vazirynath, who seems to be deigning to keep the wounded dragon company. I’yn is perched on a chair nearby — technically, two chairs. He’s sitting on one and his feet are on the other one. What is occupying him is a text on medicinal herb use for dragons, and he’s thoughtfully looking it over, making a low tongue-clicking sound occasionally; Vazirynath twitches her tail every time he makes it, but the wounded blue, half asleep, doesn’t appear to care.

Cleared to fly at the beginning of the sevenday, it’s no surprise that Ryglinath descends from above, landing solid some distance away from I’yn and Vazirynath both. His mental greeting is perfectly-polite but a little clipped, the forward momentum of his thoughts a staccato beat, there and then gone as he retreats. This is, apparently, Teya’s show: she dismounts cleanly, but takes a moment to press her forehead against Ryglinath’s warm hide before she turns to walk toward I’yn. Her strides are habitually beat-cop rhythmed, but there is still a certain reluctance to actually close the distance that manifests the closer they get. The closer she comes, too, the easier to see that there has been some recent emotional outburst, though not the full splotchy flush of a full crying jag. “Riyn,” she greets, with an apologetic flicker of a glance to Vazirynath for the absence of his honorific. “Riyn, I-” oh, no, maybe not yet. How about, “How is the - studying.”

Vazirynath seems to forgive them both; Ryglinath for his quick touch-and-depart, as her response is only an echo of his rhythm, and Teya for not using the Correct Name, because she doesn’t seem to react to her rider’s twin’s presence much at all except for a couple of blinks that indicate she is aware the brownrider is there. I’yn, on the other hand, looks up abruptly; there’s the edge of that twin-sense niggling at him that makes him want to see her face right away instead of looking down at the material he’s been reading. He knows something’s not-quite-right before making eye contact, but her facial expression doesn’t seem to assuage him any; the expression that meets hers is nothing but raw concern and mild trepidation. “Interesting. Mixed something up for that fellow there and wanted to read more details on how it functioned — what’s wrong.” He obviously wants to be talking about what’s brought her there and what’s upset her and not his work, but he is also not the type to dodge a question.

Teya meets that raw concern with a stubborn-set chin, determined jaw and furrowed brow before she clears her expression and closes the last distance between them faster than all the rest. She aligns herself beside and slightly behind him, so she can anchor herself with a hand on his shoulder and lean in to look at the text. “How does it?” she asks, because this is the easy part: keep I’yn answering questions, keep herself focused on his answers so that she can’t back out, can’t keep her mouth shut around, “Refusal to be a hypocrite ended in healer examination a few nights ago, conclusive prognosis pregnancy I’ve decided I’m having it,” the end of which all comes out in a rush as she leans more, reaches around to move his hand slightly so she can read what’s under it.

“Soaks into the hide and reduces inflammation,” I’yn offers somewhat nonspecifically; one might be able to figure out that, yes, that is what an anti-inflammatory does. Further detail on how it functions in terms of ichor vessels is apparently pending. The hide he’s reading is at least covered in drawings showing the way the chemical soaks in. “Also like that,” he adds, gesturing at the illustration, easygoing; that’s what she needs, that’s what he provides. “I — okay,” is ever so helpful, “I’m certainly not going to judge you the choice to give birth any. Decided on whether you’re keeping it?” It’s an even and unaffected tone, as if they’re talking about any old thing, but it’s clear based on expression that I’yn does care. He’s relaxed and totally chill about the entire thing; she’s made her choice, he has no strong opinions on either option and he does supportive of her just as well as she does of him: that is to say perfectly.

“I think that may be what I was using on Ryglinath,” or something similar, “that sounds like the way Trek explained it.” She pulls back, at first just a little but then entirely, abandoning her upright lean in favor of a seat on the ground beside I’yn. It’s convenient, then, that this lets her both hug her knees and lean her shoulder against his leg. “I am - leaning toward yes, probably, maybe - I’m not entirely sure. Yet. There are still - people. I need to talk to - you’re the first person I’ve told, the third person who knows yet, Hannah got it out of me. I made lists.” Of course Teya made lists, “And the healer, but - I’m working on it. I don’t have a plan yet, Ri, but I -” she shrugs her shoulders, and leans forward to set her chin on her knees.

I’yn was about to ask if she wanted a chair, but as soon as she settles into using him as a leaning post the assumption can be easily made that the answer is no. And so the ground it is; he keeps his leg steady so he can be a better furniture augmentation. “‘Maybe’ is somewhat in support of keeping custodial control but basically keeping a personal nanny at all times; kind of like us,” because for all that their parents loved them and doted on them, they were also busy leading a Weyr and once Chey died T’ii couldn’t really mind a pair of four turn olds alone. “Rather than fostering or adopting out, anyway. Something I can do?” Besides be a plan sounding board?

“It’s K’ane’s,” Teya supplies as further explanation, “and he - has custody of Aikiri, who I babysit any chance I get. There is a - strong probability that he wants to be involved whether I’m able or not, so.” Despite the deliberate-statement quality of her words there is still something like hope, hope or maybe fear that traces their outside edges. “Kind of like us. I,” she turns, pulling her arms away from her knees so that she can hook one around his calf as she thumps her cheek against his knee. “Just - do. You. Your you thing, do your Riyn thing and, I don’t know, tell me I’m not crazy when something new happens and I start freaking out, okay? You - I know it’s the after part you studied, but you still - know. Things.” Does Teya have bones in her spine? It’s possible that the answer is no, from the way she leans her weight against his leg.

She may not yet, but she will, though who knows; being oddly bendy when odds are against it could always be a talent of Teya’s. “K’ane, if I remember right, is very fond of children, and —” I’yn can’t help but laugh a little, a single laugh-sound, as he adds, “Shea will be a cousin twice, won’t she. That means she’s obligated to contribute, right?” Because Shea just adores children, and everyone knows it. Or, well — no. “But — of course. Yeah. I’ll take care of you. I’ll do a better job taking care of a baby, sure,” comes with another shy laugh; it’s not like he’d do a bad job watching out for his sister, “But I’ll keep an eye out. And no, I don’t mind being woken up at odd hours. Kind of a pain not living with you, anymore, but … dragons.” Vazirynath insisting on a ledge nowhere near Teya and Shea, who only have the one weyr between them. The one I’yn really should’ve moved into.

“We’re going to be wingmates,” Teya declares, in response to absolutely nothing directly, but obviously a part of the whole … percolating situation. “For a while, at least - I’m going to have to step down, transfer into Mirage. Makes it easy.” Makes what easy, Teya? “Makes it easy to watch each others’ backs.” Bendy-Teya takes a few more moments to further her attempt to re-join I’yn by osmosis, then starts pulling herself straight again. “I’ll come over, soon, once I have - more of a plan. I need to go,” and there is some reluctance there, but then again - a heap in the dragonhealers’ yard is not the face she generally chooses to show the public. “Figure out who I’m telling next, figure out how I’m telling — I just needed to tell you first. As soon as I’d decided, one way or the other.” As she speaks, she climbs to her feet; once entirely upright she scrubs her hand over her face, then adds, “I know I don’t have to tell you, but saying it anyway makes me feel better - this is just ours, for now, until I’ve done, okay? I don’t want it to get found out by anyone important - not from me.”

“Won’t breathe a word.” It is doubtful I’yn ever will; it isn’t anyone’s business to find out through him that his sister is pregnant. (He doesn’t think of it in terms of ‘he’s going to be an uncle.’ It isn’t about him yet, if it is about him ever — though he’s probably better with kids than most of their family at this point.) “Not that I need to reassure you, either, but if we’re saying things out loud,” comes with additional wry smile. “And it’ll be good to ride together for a bit. Ziry —” There’s an irritable tail-lash for that, a quiet hiss, “Vazirynath at least likes Ryglinath. You both take care before I see you again in a couple-three hours,” it’s not like they go much longer than that without talking on a regular basis, and now it’s almost more urgent. “And be careful, because K’ane already has a set of twins.”

That last comment earns I’yn a cuff rather than a hug, a mostly-joking, half-hissed, “Don’t even joke about that, Ri,” that ends on a laugh. (It even manages not to stray slightly into hysterical territory; Teya is clearly still processing all of this.) “I expect you to tell me all about,” gesture toward his reading material, “the next time I see you. Clear skies, Riyn.” At least she doesn’t salute, but she does grin down at him like she was considering it briefly, before pulling away and making her way back to her waiting lifemate. Ryglinath is eager to get in the air after so much time landbound; as a result, their exit is as clean (if abrupt) as their entrance was.

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